


wake up feeling like you won't play right

by oryx



Category: Kamen Rider Kiva
Genre: Barebacking, Breeding Kink, Choking, Come Inflation, Knotting, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Under-negotiated Kink, Werewolf Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-10 17:30:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20855564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oryx/pseuds/oryx
Summary: After hours at Café mald'amour.





	wake up feeling like you won't play right

**Author's Note:**

> i'm not happy about this either. please address any and all complaints to mr inoue toshiki.

  
“Shima-san is running rather late.”  
  
He punctuates this with a dramatic sigh, leaning against the table behind him, the edge digging into the backs of his thighs. The café is shuttered and closed at this hour – the few dim lights they’ve flipped on while they wait for this supposed “briefing” cast the place in a shadowy half-glow. Jiro, back turned to him as he sits at the counter and idly plays a game of solitaire, doesn’t make so much as a noise of assent at his words, and Otoya frowns.  
  
“I have things I could be doing right now, you know,” he continues, louder this time. “I could be on a date with my beloved Yuri.”  
  
That gets a huff of derisive laughter out of him. “Sure you could. A date with your right hand, more like.”  
  
“So crass,” Otoya ‘tsk’s. “Of course that’s the kind of insult you’d choose, puppy. _Some_ of us cherish women for their beautiful souls and minds, too.”  
  
Jiro pauses; turns slow to give him a flatly amused look. Under the leather of his jacket, today’s black shirt is artfully unbuttoned in a manner that’s even more grating than usual. “Oh, so that’s you, huh?” he says.  
  
“Obviously. Loving a woman should always begin as strictly pure and emotional. I wouldn’t expect an uncultured animal like yourself to understand.” He narrows his eyes. “Really, I wish you’d stop sniffing around Yuri with such unpleasant intentions. It turns my stomach to watch.”  
  
There is a beat of silence, and then Jiro slides out his seat, boots hitting the floor with a heavy thump. He moves to stand directly in front of Otoya, tilting his head to the side, a faint reddish luminosity to his irises. “Any human woman should feel honored,” he says, a low growl. “To be chosen by me.”  
  
The air in the space between them seems thick, pressing down against his skin and laying in the back of his throat.  
  
“Yuri isn’t ‘any woman,’” Otoya scoffs. “You really think she’ll be happy when she finds out what you actually want from her?” He lifts a hand as if to say ‘what can be done?’ “But it’s not like you care about her happiness anyhow. Never a thought for anyone but yourself. We really should do something to get you away from her.” Something tightens in the pit of his stomach as he continues, airily: “Well, there’s no helping it. I’ll have to volunteer to take her place.”  
  
Jiro stares at him for a long moment before arching an eyebrow.  
  
“Last time I checked,” he says, taking a further step closer, close enough that his inhumanly high body temperature seems to radiate, “you didn’t exactly have what I need.”  
  
Otoya shrugs a shoulder, a forcedly nonchalant smile playing on his lips. “Isn’t that all semantics? Your thinking is so narrow-minded, it’s tragic.”  
  
“Oh?” Jiro bares his teeth – slightly sharp, though maybe that’s his imagination – in a crooked, acidic grin. “I see now. I get what this is.”  
  
His hand grips the back of Otoya’s neck without warning, an inescapable strength to it, and he feels like a ragdoll as he’s spun around and slammed face down into the table. The force of it dazes him, pain in his temple where it glanced off the hard surface, replaced a moment later by the awareness of his cheek grinding against the smooth tabletop, the sterile smell of lemony cleaning solution, the weight of Jiro’s palm holding him there, the heat of his body as he leans over him.  
  
“You planned this, didn’t you? You little bitch. Is Shima even coming?”  
  
Otoya’s voice comes out hoarse as he answers, “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean, puppy.”  
  
“Unbelievable.” Jiro’s free hand slips into his pockets one by one until he discovers the stash of condoms and lube, which earns him a bark of wry laughter in response. “You’re really that desperate for me to fuck you, huh?”  
  
Otoya shivers. He’d been half-hard already, but his cock reacts fully to those words, straining, trapped uncomfortably against the surface of the table. His breathing goes a bit funny when he sees, out of the corner of his eye, Jiro toss the condoms aside with a derisive sound.  
  
“I don’t take kindly to humans thinking they can jerk me around,” Jiro growls. “Especially idiots like you. But I’m thinking… maybe this is a good chance, actually. To finally teach you a lesson, Otoya.”  
  
He barely manages to avoid saying ‘please do,’ for which he’s grateful to his last shreds of self control.  
  
(Though he supposes it wouldn’t be much more debasing than anything else happening here tonight.)  
  
Predictably, there’s no tenderness or technique to Jiro’s touch as he presses his slick fingers into him. It’s harsh, impatient, the annoyance of a creature who’s used to his partners being wet for him with little concerted effort on his part. Otoya doesn’t think he fucks men very often. Probably considers it pointless. It’s as he said – Otoya doesn’t have what he needs.  
  
It’s appealing to pretend, though.  
  
It’s sooner than is probably advisable that Jiro’s fingers slide out of him and the hot head of his cock presses against the ring of muscle in their place, but Otoya is well past the point of caring, breath hitching as he enters him inch by inch, the burn and stretch giving way to that perfect feeling of being filled.  
  
“You look pretty good like this, Otoya,” Jiro muses, fingers feeling more like claws as they dig into his waist. He fucks him languidly, hitting a spot that makes him groan again and again, heat blossoming through him in waves, his whole body flush with it. His own cock is smearing precome against the table with each thrust. “Bet you’d like it, if I opened these blinds up right now. And let anyone walking by see you.”  
  
Otoya bites his lip hard enough to hurt, pushing his hips back eagerly as he tries to take him deeper.  
  
“You really are a slut, aren’t you? How long have you been wanting this?”  
  
“Months,” he gasps.  
  
A laugh. “Yeah, I’ll bet.” He rolls his hips with a thoughtful hum. “How about this: since you want to take Yuri’s place so bad, I’ll give you the full experience.”  
  
He pulls out – flips him over casually, as if he weighed nothing, putting a hand around his throat and holding him there none too gently, so that Otoya can look nowhere else as he begins to shift. Not that he would anyhow. Caught by those eyes glowing vivid red against the dimness. Skin soon no longer visible under thick blue fur. The fingers gripping him lengthening, sharpening into claws. Mouth widening, lips drawing back in a snarl that’s almost like a smile, filling with viciously pointed teeth. The golden horn emerging proudly from the middle of his brow.  
  
The wolf looms over him, its body radiating astonishing heat, strange, monstrous cock now resting against the curve of his ass, dripping with anticipation.  
  
“This is what you really want, isn’t it?” he growls.  
  
“Yes,” Otoya breathes, and Jiro makes a low, pleased sound in his throat as he slams back inside him with sudden force, the ridges along that inhuman cock dragging at his insides. Otoya forgets how to breathe for a moment as he’s fucked by it. The shape is unlike anything he’s ever felt. It pushes deeper, buried up to the hilt, and in turn he can feel something far thicker pressing against him, again and again with determination until it too is forced inside him as he whimpers. Jiro lets out a sigh of contentment.  
  
“Been so long,” he murmurs, lolling tongue running over the sharp points of his teeth. “Can’t go this far with regular human women, y’know.”  
  
The thick, corded thing inside him is gradually beginning to swell. It’s so big, painfully so, and he tries to squirm back but finds he can’t, the thing trapping him there speared on Jiro’s cock, and something halfway between panic and exhilaration spikes in the pit of his stomach. This is a predator, he thinks, in that small part of his brain that is still clinging to reason. And here he is, rolled over on his back to be prey. That clawed hand around his throat squeezes, not enough to fully cut off his airflow but enough to make him work for it, each breath a ragged, shuddering one.  
  
He’s pleasantly lightheaded and dizzy when he can feel Jiro shudder and twitch inside him. He tightens around him unconsciously and receives a hiss in return, a tightening of his grip that leaves Otoya struggling for breath. That spike of something exhilarating hits again as hot, thick come splashes deep inside him, more than should be possible. And then more still. He comes a moment later, streaking across his shirtfront with a choked, half-inaudible cry, but the wolf is not so easy. Each short thrust fills him with more and more, until it feels like it could overflow if not for the plug of his cock keeping it all inside. He groans, writhing on the table against the mounting pressure in his gut. Still it is pumped into him. The grip on his throat is taken away, but it does nothing to ease the giddy feeling as he watches his stomach swell outward, taut and lightly rounded, and –  
  
It ends. Just like that, a moment before he could swear he was about to burst. But the plug shows no sign of freeing him just yet, and so he can only lie there, desperately pushing down against it and setting his nerves on fire as he does so. He reaches weakly for his again-stiffening cock to try and relieve some of it, any of it, but before he can Jiro slams both of his wrists down against the table.  
  
“No touching yourself,” he growls. “Not until it’s over. I want to see you suffer.”  
  
He groans pitifully. He spends what feels like an eternity but is undoubtedly only a few short minutes struggling there against the manacle-like hold on his wrists. The discomfort of his swollen stomach is beginning to feel good, too, somehow, the absolute fullness turning into heat that washes over him. And it’s – appealing, seeing himself this way.  
  
The wolf seems to notice it, too. The way he’s looking at himself.  
  
“You’d love it, wouldn’t you?” There’s a self-satisfied grin in his voice, though underneath is something else. Something feral and wild and darkly genuine. “To get fat with my pups.”  
  
Otoya takes a sharp breath. The words seem to lie heavy against his skin, sinking down beneath, sending a full-body tremble through him. Distantly, he can feel the plug beginning to soften and slide free.  
  
“Who knows?” Jiro barks out a laugh. “Maybe a miracle will happen, and your wish will come true, slut.”  
  
He pulls out, and the come inside him begins to stream out, dripping to the floor beneath them, and his eyes roll back as his mind goes utterly blank.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
“I don’t clean.” He says this with a sneer.  
  
“You do today, puppy.” He shoves a bottle of disinfectant into his hands. “This is more your fault than mine, you know.”  
  
“Like hell it is,” he snaps. “You’re the one who set me up ‘cause you wanted my dick.”  
  
Otoya purses his lips. His entire body is beginning to ache far beyond anything he’s ever felt before, exhaustion threatening to knock his treacherous legs out from under him at any moment, but he can’t afford to show any more weakness in front of this creature today, and so he keeps his posture, his expression carefully casual.  
  
“Alright,” he admits. “Maybe… I may have miscalculated just a teensy little bit. But you didn’t have to indulge me quite that far.” He clicks his teeth. “Such a lack of self-control. So you still have to help. Yuri hates men who aren’t cleanly, you know. She told me that in confidence the other day.”  
  
Jiro narrows his eyes at him, clearly debating over whether or not that strikes him as a lie.  
  
“Fine,” he mutters finally, shrugging off his jacket and grabbing a scrub brush with an expression of utter disdain. “I swear to god. Only Kurenai Otoya could turn fucking into such a hassle.”


End file.
